


Forgive Me

by Inactive_Account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Child Abandonment, Depression, Dubious Consent, Heavy Angst, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inactive_Account/pseuds/Inactive_Account
Summary: Keith remembered.He remembered how Krolia abandoned him.It was a trauma that stayed with him, as he searched for love and validation in all the worst places, and yet everyone else left in turn . . . his father, his heroes, even Shiro. The common denominator washim. Keith knew that he was worthless, but wouldn't stop him from seeking worth in Iverson's arms.





	Forgive Me

_‘No, Mummy! No.’_

_Keith clung to her hand. Tiny feet dug into the ground, as he threw his entire weight backward, and – hanging from her arm – he choked for breath and gulped at the air until a lump formed in his throat. It hurt. It stung. Tears ran down his face, mixing with sweat, until his eyes were red and black bags appeared beneath. Every muscle trembled. Keith struggled to hold back his trembling lip, while snot fell from his nose and his cheeks flushed._

_He started to scream as his father wrapped two big hands around his chest, lifting him off the floor so that – for a moment – he was at eye-level with Krolia. Keith would never remember the shape of her eyes or the parting of her hair, especially with vision blurred and eyes strained, but he would always remember that smile . . ._ that smile . . . _it was impossible to decipher to a child. Was she happy to leave? Did she not care? He reached out to her until his arms ached and his joints grew sore, desperate for her to stay . . . just a little longer . . ._

_Krolia stepped back. A boot on the veranda . . . arms around a toned chest . . . Keith reached out towards the doorway, now a threshold between a life with his mother and a life without, but she stepped back again . . . again . . . Keith’s heart pounded in his ears. A cold sweat broke over his flesh, until his clothes clung to his skin. A painful lump formed in his throat, as bile rose and burned the back of his tongue. Krolia whispered to him:_

_‘Mummy has to go away, Keith.’_

_Keith fought against his father. He kicked and bit and punched, desperate to get away, as his hands opened and closed and stretched out toward Krolia, who now stood against the landscape of the setting sun, as the light grew low and cast long shadows over her face. It was inevitable. It was inescapable. Keith knew these last few seconds were his only chance to stop her from leaving . . . to keep her with him . . . a white-hot fear overwhelmed him, as his limbs grew heavy and pins-and-needles overtook every inch of skin. Keith cried out:_

_‘I’m sorry, I’ll be good!’_

_‘You haven’t done anything wrong, baby.’_

_‘I’ll be good,’ swore Keith. ‘I’ll be good! I know I’m bad, but I’ll be good. Why do you have to go away? Why can’t you stay? Why can’t I go with you? I don’t want you to go. I love you! How come you don’t love me? Did I do something wrong? I can be good!’_

_‘There’s nothing you can do, Keith. I have to go.’_

_‘I – I can’t be good? I can be good.’_

_Every muscle in his body grew weak. Keith let his arm finally fall to his side, as Krolia turned her back on him and – with long and slow steps – walked away and out of his life . . . the world moved in slow-motion, as he strove to desperately memorise every aspect of her person, but he knew –_ he knew _– no mother would leave her child. He would spend a lifetime memorising every detail . . . every fact, every opinion, every word . . . never sure when each moment would be the last time, but this moment would be forever._

_‘I can be good!’ Keith screamed._

_He let his father put him down. He put up no resistance . . . he slid down, body limp and weak, as the fabric of his father’s clothes rubbed against him with a painful friction, and he allowed himself to slowly collapse into a broken ball. The dirt floor of the cabin was cold against his skin . . . the stench of paint cans and plaster filled the air . . . Keith choked on the air, while he reached out a hand towards the door and let his fingers claw at the dirt._

_Keith wept._

* * *

“Fuck, Keith. You feel so good!”

Iverson thrust hard inside him. He pressed his hands flat on either side of Keith’s head, while a drop of sweat rolled down his temple and onto Keith’s cheek, and – as he panted fast and heavy – his breath left uncomfortable droplets of moisture on pale skin. The loud squelch of lubrication echoed through the air, along with the slapping sound of balls on buttocks, as Iverson pounded deeper and deeper inside him, aiming constantly for his prostate.

It left a deep ache at the base of his back, while his inner walls burned from the friction. Keith wrapped his legs firmer around that thick waist; that flabby stomach pressed against him, until wet skin stuck to one another with painful intimacy, and a forced pleasure rolled through every nerve in his body, as the head of his erection smeared pre-come against his belly button in a small puddle. He turned his head to the side, rested against the pillow, while Iverson watched his every minute facial movement and gasped above him.

Keith grew hotter and hotter. He draped his arms over Iverson’s shoulders, while the old man licked at his lips and let out a long growl, and – with a hard slam – thrust so hard and fast that the bed-frame rocked against the bedroom wall, starting a rhythmic banging that mixed with all other sounds and overwhelmed Keith’s senses. Iverson was getting close, as a small line of drool fell from the corner of his mouth. Keith scrunched closed his eyes.

“You’re such a good bitch,” panted Iverson. “Say it . . .”

“S-Sir?” Keith mewled. “Sir. . . S-Sir, I – . . .”

“Say you’re a good fucking bitch.”

Iverson was growing more erratic. The pleasure through Keith was getting more and more, as every nerve grew aflame and his eyes rolled back, and – even without penile stimulation – he knew he was close, as his head grew foggy and light and the world moved around him. He clawed long lines down Iverson’s back, leaving thick red lines down brown skin, as he threw back his head and opened his mouth wide and came long and hard. _Ecstasy_.

Thick ropes of come shot from his cock, as they splattered over his stomach. Keith arched his back until breaking point, pulling Iverson into him impossibly close, as his heart pounded so loud that all other sounds stopped, and – choking on air – the orgasmic bliss rushed through him, until he collapsed back against the mattress. Iverson continued to pound him, even as he grew limp and sprawled out on the sheets with little care for appearance. Keith licked at his lips, as he glanced to Iverson with half-lidded eyes and whispered out:

“I’m a good fucking bitch, Sir.”

Iverson screamed. The sound was loud against his ear, while he thrust balls deep inside Keith, and – coming long and hard – he pumped Keith full of come, until it seeped out from the sights and the salty liquid burned at the few small abrasions inside. He was full. He was _wanted_. Keith smiled up at that scarred face, knowing that Iverson wanted him . . . _not another teacher, not another student, but him_. . . Keith finally felt complete, even as Iverson pulled out with a sloppy sound and fell down beside him on the bed.

“You’re the best lay I ever had,” said Iverson.

“Thank you, Sir,” murmured Keith.

Keith spread his legs and reached down. He poked at his hole with a hiss of breath, before the come oozed out and seeped onto his fingers, and – with a sigh of relief – he was certain Iverson definitely came, enough that he could finally rest. Keith curled up beside his lover, nuzzling against him and letting Iverson hold him close. He felt a rapid heartbeat beneath his long fingers, while his leg brushed against a wet cock nested in thick pubic hair, and he almost felt lulled into a deep sleep, until Iverson sighed and climbed away.

A spark of familiar panic ran through Keith. Iverson snatched at his clothing from the floor, dressing with hasty speed, and Keith struggled to sit upright . . . _a wince of pain, a rub of his lower back, tears springing to his eyes_. . . he panted for breath, as he gave a trembling smile and blinked back tears. Keith slid back on his bed. He pressed his back against the headrest, while Iverson finally finished dressing and rolled back his shoulders. Keith asked:

“You’re leaving me?”

“I have papers to grade,” muttered Iverson. “You _earned_ your ‘A’, by the way, but I can always count this towards your extra-credit assignments. I bet you have lots planned for today, anyway, after all . . . not every time a young man turns fifteen, right?”

“Shiro and I planned for a romantic meal, but then –”

“You don’t need to say any more, Keith.”

Iverson frowned and turned around. He would not meet Keith’s eye, even as he walked with hunched shoulders towards the bedroom door, and – beyond the bedroom, beyond their self-created world – the dormitories would mark a return to ‘normality’. Iverson let his hand rest on the doorknob, while he cast his eye about the bedroom. It was devoid of personalisation. It was the same as when Keith first moved in, but even so Iverson nodded to a shelf and said:

“Shiro looks just like your father, doesn’t he?”

Keith followed his gaze, even still naked in the bed. A shelf on the wall marked the one and only birthday card, strewn with a ‘fifteen’ over a picture of some balloons, and inside would be Iverson’s scrawled cliché and lazy signature. A photograph of Shiro stood just to the side, where he stared out from behind glass in his instructors’ uniform beside Keith, and together they made the perfect couple . . . even if only Iverson knew of their secret . . .

He glanced to an upturned photograph on his bedside table. Keith reached out and let his sweat-covered fingers trace over the cold metal, before he pulled his hand away and slumped forward, and he played with the wet sheets before him with a lazy touch. He listened as Iverson sighed, even as he clicked around the doorknob and waited to open the door, where he would leave and Keith would be alone yet again. The familiar stab of pain tore at his chest, until he realised he was scratching at his flesh, leaving red lines as he choked out:

“Shiro is always there for me.”

“‘Was’,” muttered Iverson.

“My dad died after I came to the Garrison,” whispered Keith. “I was only twelve! I – I – I lost my mother, because – because she didn’t love me . . . w-who does that, by the way? You’re supposed to love your child unconditionally! Isn’t it a maternal bond or something? I just spent the last ten years blaming everyone . . . even blame my dad for a while . . . it took me a while to work out that it was _me_ that was the issue. _I’m_ the common denominator.

“How can someone spend _five fucking years_ with a child, only to walk away . . . if you can’t love someone after five years, after watching them grow and watching them develop, and if seeing them become more and more their own person pushes you further and further away . . . it has to be me, doesn’t it? I don’t know if I’m evil or broken or just wrong, and I don’t know if it was my autism or my behavioural problems, but I know that it’s _me_. There is something wrong with _me_. I pushed her away and she hates me. My own mother _hates_ me.

“My father died and I thought I’d be alone forever.” Keith shrugged with a smile. “I had no friends here, plus it’s not as though I had any other family, but then Shiro . . . he looked _just like_ my pops, and he paid me attention. Shiro made me feel less alone. I felt like I had a bit of my pops back, and if he could _choose_ to stay with me, maybe I wasn’t a worthless nobody. I spent my _life_ trying to prove my worth, but with Shiro there was nothing to prove.”

“You wanted a father figure,” said Iverson.

“I just wanted to be _loved_ ,” confessed Keith. “I just wanted to be loved! I didn’t care that he touched me and kissed me and fucked me, because at least he _wanted_ me, and no other twelve-year old was warming his bed, right? Only then you told me he was gone! Now who I have? Now who loves me? I lost my mom. I lost my dad. I lost Shiro. Ever time you walk out that door, I’m terrified I’ll lose you too. Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me!”

Iverson bit into his lip. The tears ran down Keith’s cheeks, as he crawled down the bed and reached out to grab Iverson’s sleeves, and – as Iverson avoided his gaze – Keith licked his lips in a way he knew men loved and went for Iverson’s belt. . . _‘no, Keith’, ‘stop’, ‘you don’t want this, Keith’_. . . hands slapped at his hands, until long fingers wrapped around his wrists and held them at bay, even as Keith widened his eyes in horror as his heart raced.

The look of absolute pity was more than he could bear. Keith threw himself back onto the bed, as Iverson finally let go, and – dragging himself back to the pillows – he curled into a ball and gripped the pillows to his chest, as he held back wracked sobs and rocked against semen-soaked sheets. Iverson cracked open the door and looked into the hallway, where Keith heard only silence and the sound of his heart, and Iverson let out a long sigh and threw open the door wide, before he faked a sincere smile and chirped out in a warm voice:

“I’ll come back tonight, Birthday Boy.”

The door clicked behind him, as he finally left Keith alone. Keith lay in silence for a long few minutes, simply feeling the ache in his behind and the come that started to dry and itch, until he could bear no more and reached for the upturned photo-frame. He flipped it upright and smiled to see a portrait of Shiro behind the glass . . . Shiro . . . _the man that loved him, the man that left him_. . . Keith was alone once more. The memories of his loved ones were all that was left, along with the knowledge _he_ was the problem. _He was the problem._

Keith threw the photo-frame across the dormitory room. It smashed against the door, where glass sparkled in the artificial light and scattered about the spotless floor, and – finally – a swelling cavern of emptiness opened up inside him. He knew no matter how many men he let take him, nothing would fill that void, because they only wanted him for those few minutes . . . Iverson’s love was fleeting, just like Shiro’s and just like his mother’s . . .

Keith finally wept.


End file.
